


Bet Club

by hotlegfryegg



Category: VALORANT (Video Game)
Genre: Background Relationships, Gambling, Multi, probably a little ooc but i wanted something fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:20:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26592046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotlegfryegg/pseuds/hotlegfryegg
Summary: Raze raises her hand.Jett deadpans, “No, you cannot pay in bullets.”Raze’s hand lowers.
Relationships: Phoenix/Sova (VALORANT), Sage/Viper (VALORANT)
Comments: 41
Kudos: 93





	1. Jett, Sage, Sova

A glass filled with a dark amber liquid slides across the table into Cypher’s vision, topped by fingers with a bright blue nail polish. He looks up from where he had been doing research on his laptop, following the hand on the glass to where Jett stares at him. Given the way her cheeks are pink and her brow is pinched, she’s almost certainly drunk.

_This is going to be fun_ , he thinks. “Can I help you?”

“You have dirt on everybody here, right?” The korean gestures behind her at the rest of their dining hall, where the other agents are each nursing a drink of choice and observing Cypher with varying degrees of interest. “You know our backgrounds and shit, don’t say you don’t.”

Perhaps his mask hides his face, but it fails to keep the smile out of Cypher’s voice as he closes his laptop. “Let’s say I do, then, _Miss Hyeong-Ji_.” She squirms at that, he notes with a petty thrill. “Exactly what are you asking me for?”

Jett fidgets momentarily, most likely wondering whether it’s worthwhile to confront him over using her surname, before shaking off the thought and refocusing. “We need you to settle a bet,” she says coolly, beckoning for him to stand. “That’s Cap’s good whiskey, so you’re paid. Now give us the dirt.”

Cypher tilts his head. “And if I tell you I don’t like whiskey?”

“Then I’ll tell Brimstone you took it yourself,” she sniffs.

He laughs, rising. “You drive a hard bargain.”

Realizing she’s succeeded in convincing him, Jett pumps her fist with a hiss of _yessssss_ before power-walking back to her spot in the cluster of seats they’d arranged in a sort of half-assed circle. Among those present are Reyna, Breach, Raze, Viper, Sage, Sova, Phoenix, and Killjoy--it seems Omen and Brimstone are busy elsewhere.

Jett sits down next to Phoenix, who gives her a quick high-five that ends in an exchange of finger guns. Cypher follows suit, taking a spot next to Breach (who immediately stands and picks another seat, as he’s evidently still sore about Cypher’s tendency to “borrow” parts of his arms) and Reyna, who raises her glass in greeting before taking a drink. The informant raises his own in return, tugging at a hidden fasten on his mask to expose his mouth and take a cursory sip.

“So, then, who would like to tell me exactly what Jett means by ‘dirt’? I must admit, I’m rather curious.” The informant relaxes into the plastic chair, swirling the whiskey in his glass.

Breach snorts into his beer bottle. “As if you’d grace us with your presence if you weren’t,” he sneers.

“Rap sheets,” Viper supplies bluntly, tapping an idle finger on the stem of her wine glass. Cypher can’t recall the last time he’d seen the scientist so dressed-down, trading her signature combat suit for a black turtleneck and blue jeans. “I doubt anyone here is crime-free, given our current choices in occupation. But we want to know exactly what those crimes are, if they’re interesting.”

“You’ve wagered on each other’s criminal history.”

“Don’t sound so shocked, hermano.” Reyna prods the leg of Cypher’s chair with the toe of her boot. “We’re drinking and bored.”

He huffs out a laugh over the rim of his cup. “I’m only shocked it’s not--”

“DIRT!” yells Jett, pointing a finger at the surveillant. “I want the forbidden knowledge, and you WILL tell us, because if I’m right about even half of this crap, you guys are gonna owe me big!”

The group jeers back with various expletives of doubt, save for two: Sova, who looks understandably anxious, and Killjoy, who aggressively flaps a hand as she attempts to swallow her drink faster. 

“Wait wait wait--if we’re going to do this, we’re doing to do it right,” the german declares, jumping up from her seat and bolting for the door. “DontstartwithoutmeI’llberightback!”

Cypher’s suspicions are confirmed as, true to her word, Killjoy carefully backs into the room pulling a large rolling whiteboard behind her. Almost everyone seems to have a strong reaction to the appearance of the whiteboard, with a variety of cheers coming from Viper, Phoenix, and Breach in particular.

“Ah--so this is an official Bet Club event, then,” Cypher says, setting his glass on the table behind him and reaching for his laptop.

Killjoy pauses from where she had been erasing some doodles from the board to tut at the surveillant, wagging an admonishing finger. “First rule of Bet Club is don’t talk about Bet Club. But yes,” she admits, uncapping a marker, “I decree that this is now an official bet.”

“Wait… why do we keep Bet Club a secret when literally everyone is in on it?” Raze squints and rubs her chin introspectively.

Viper holds up a finger as she chugs the rest of her wine in one go, before pointing at the bomber. “Because shut up.”

The plastic chair creaks under his weight as Breach shrugs. “You heard the vice snesident, there’s your answer. Oi, designated lore-creeper--” he snaps his silicone-capped fingers at Cypher “--call the father-in-chief and spacestorian, they’re going to want in on this.”

Sova shakes his head as he begrudgingly accepts the legal pad Killjoy hands him. “I think the better question is why have we all given ourselves these ridiculous titles?”

“Do I need to repeat myself, _grand treasureman_?” Viper sneers as she motions for Sage to pass her the open wine bottle on the table. “If you don’t like the rules, that’s your problem.”

A hand raises. “I, for one, enjoy the ridiculous titles,” says Phoenix.

“Thank you, executive hotboy. I’m glad _someone_ around here has class.”

Phoenix winks at Sova, who seems to now be having an existential crisis.

“Alright!” Jett takes command, stepping up by the whiteboard. It’s now covered by a square grid, with agents’ names written along both the top and sides. A diagonal line of crossed-out boxes cuts the grid in half where the names overlap, so a bet can’t be input by the agent being wagered upon. “Let’s get this shit started with ground rules--succretary,” she gestures to Reyna, “you can fill the father-in-chief and spacestorian once they’re here. We’re gonna go down the list, one by one, and call out what we think is the most interesting crime on someone’s record--and we are only betting on crimes _on our official records_. If it’s not on the books, it doesn’t count, _Breach_.”

Ignoring the swede’s objection of _that was only one time!_ , Jett continues. “Minimum bet is a hundred credits, and we’re only betting in increments of a hundred. Call out your guess with your wager, and the grand treasureman will let the winner know how much they receive. If nobody wins, the bet rolls over into the next pot--so if I bet two hundred one round and nobody wins, the next round is my two hundred plus whatever I want to bet this round, and you have to raise at least the minimum, so my total wager is three hundred. Make sense?”

Raze raises her hand.

Jett deadpans, “No, you cannot pay in bullets.” 

Raze’s hand lowers.

The duelist turns on her heel to face Sova. “Speaking of, grand treasureman, do we have any outstanding debts?”

“Yes, I know we do,” the archer mutters, flipping through the legal pad. He clears his throat, adjusting to sit up straight. “The executive hotboy owes the father-in-chief six hundred credits for losing the bet on whether or not Phoenix could withstand a regular molotov--”

“Oi, I totally did though--”

Sage, who had been silently observing from her seat behind Phoenix, raises her hand as if to slap the back of his head. The brit flinches away, holding up an arm in defense. “I meant I paid!”

Shaking his head, Sova jots something down on the paper as Sage boxes Phoenix’s ear anyway and the two bicker quietly back and forth in cantonese. “Moving on, the vice snesident owes _me_ six thousand credits after failing a bet on whether or not I could hit a vial of her poison from a hundred yards while blindfolded. Coupled with ‘whiner’s tax’, per club rules, her outstanding debt is now... nine thousand credits,” he says smugly, tapping the paper with his pen at the woman seated next to him. “As I am willing to be generous, I will not charge a late fee and will accept payment in installments.”

Viper’s eyes go wide with fury and the stem of her wine glass snaps in her grip. “That shot was _bullshit_ , you cheated and we all know it!”

“Sounds like another count of whiner’s tax to me,” says Brimstone as he shuts the hallway door behind him.

“Not this again… Alright, alright, we all want to get to the betting,” Killjoy sighs, stepping forward to look between Viper and Sova. “Who was listed as the witness?”

Reyna waves her hand from where she reclines against the table. “Nobody ever said he couldn’t use his sonic eye. He fulfilled the bet.” She smiles, tilting her head at Viper. “Sorry, hermana, but it’s your loss.”

Viper huffs, rising to throw her broken glass away. “This isn’t over, bird boy.”

Sova raises his eyebrows, looking terribly pleased with himself. “Ten thousand,” he says with a smile.

“ _Fuck you._ ”

“I’ll waive the ‘bitching fee’, just because I’m nice.” The hunter flips the page. “That’s the last of the outstanding debts, if Phoe--the executive hotboy paid.”

Brimstone nods, pulling a pair of beer bottles out of the minifridge against the wall. He walks over past Cypher to sit by Raze, setting the second bottle at the previously empty seat between him and Reyna--the group startles at the sudden appearance of Omen, who growls a word of thanks for the drink. 

“Yup, hotshot’s squared away.” Pulling out his knife, Brimstone pops the cap off his beer and takes a swig. “Although I think we need to start setting a hazard tax or something for when these bets get someone hurt.”

“Seconded,” Sage calls, raising her glass of wine.

Jett snaps her fingers. “Shit, that reminds me--yo, lore-creeper!” She looks at Cypher, who takes another sip of his (admittedly very good) whiskey. “Since you’re the dealer for today’s bet, you can’t bid, but you can take the fat kid tax if you want it.”

“Fat kid tax--that’s the ten percent for being the only person unable to participate, yes?” The surveillant hums thoughtfully, as if he has to think it over. “Alright, I accept.”

Pleased, Jett looks to Sova, who makes a note and nods. “Then we proceed!” Rubbing her hands, she turns back to the whiteboard. “Junior vice president scoreborg, who’s our first victim?”

Killjoy points to the first square at the top, written in bold red ink.

“Oh,” Jett deflates. “Shit.”

Chuckling, the german adjusts her glasses before uncapping a blue marker. “All bets for the dumbest thing in Jett’s criminal history?”

“Serial drunk and disorderly, two hundred,” volunteers Breach.

Phoenix raises his beer. “Seconded.”

“ _Really_?”

Sage holds up a hand. “Thirded for one hundred.”

Jett groans, exasperated. “Oh come on!”

Giggling, Raze waves a hand at Killjoy. “I’m going to bet grand larceny at a zoo for five hundred!”

Viper scoffs, pouring herself another glass of wine. “You always wager the weirdest shit.” She sighs, swirls her drink, and glares at Sova. “Grand theft auto, two hundred.”

The brazilian makes a face at that. “You always wager the lamest shit. What are you gonna do when I win?”

“Smelly little brat,” Viper sneers.

Raze sticks her tongue out in response.

Omen, Brimstone, and Killjoy all second Viper for varying amounts, and Reyna seconds Raze (reasoning “it’s the best response”). Sova joins the bets of drunk and disorderly, albeit only for a hundred. The first row of boxes on the board fill, and with all bets in play, the room falls quiet as Cypher clears his throat.

“Someone,” he begins, sweeping his hand to gesture at the assembled agents, “is correct.”

“Come on, alcoholism!” Breach whisper-shouts, grinning when Jett flips him off.

The moroccan glances over at Viper. “You’re not going to like this.”

The woman’s jaw drops in disbelief. “Oh my god you’re shitting me,” she says.

“Raze and Reyna are correct!” Cypher laughs as agents start to yell out protests. “She was arrested in San Diego for attempting to kidnap a red panda. As it happens, the charge came with a count of--as you may have guessed--drunk and disorderly.” Smiling, he nods his head at a now furiously blushing Jett. “It’s probably one of my favorite stories out of everyone’s files.”

Killjoy, laughing incredulously, leans forward to look at Jett’s face. “How did that even happen?”

“I thought it was someone’s cat!” The korean cries, embarrassed. “I got really upset that they would petnap a kitty and I tried to break it out, okay?! Next fucking bet!”

“I saw the headline on reddit in the stupid news forum,” Raze snickers. “That was a really good mugshot. You were traaaashed.”

“NEXT BET PLEASE.”

Brimstone takes pity and whistles to cut through the din. “Okay, that’s enough--scoreborg, who’s up?”

Taking the hint, Killjoy turns back to the board. “Next bet is… Sage!”

Immediately, the room swivels to look at where Viper sips casually on her wine. After a moment, the american’s eyebrows pinch together. “... What?”

Phoenix coughs pointedly, and Sova elbows him in the ribs.

Raze is the only one bold enough to speak. “You guys are… y’know…” She tapers off, making a lewd gesture with her hands. “So uh. What’cha betting, snake lady?”

Viper snorts into her glass. “Murder.”

Brimstone chokes on his drink.

“Wait, what?!” yells Jett, whipping around to stare at a very tense Sage. “Seriously??”

“Oh, absolutely,” Viper says silkily, turning around to look at the monk. She smiles, all teeth. “Her spotless record probably bored Cypher to death. Put me in for a hundred.”

Sage scowls, turning to Brimstone. “I would like to change the lock on my room,” she says, to which Viper just laughs.

“As if you’re not usually in mine, Hua.”

“This is really awkward, so I’m just gonna. Bet.” Thankfully, Phoenix breaks some of the tension. He squints at the board for a moment, clicking his tongue. “Give me… fuck it, petty theft for three hundred.”

Sova raises his pen, seconding the bet before going back to crunching numbers. Brimstone thirds the guess, still coughing slightly, and Breach fourths.

“I second murder for two hundred,” Omen rumbles.

“You are a fool,” mutters Sage with an indignant huff.

Squinting over her liquor, Reyna hums into her glass. “I’m tempted to third.”

“You all are losing healing privileges. I retire effective immediately.”

“Third me.”

At this point, most eyes are on the board--enough so that Sage feels comfortable enough to cast a very helpless look at Cypher. He knows her history, almost as well as he knows she isn’t ready to tell this particular story, and he shakes his head ever so slightly in response. The healer lets out a sigh of relief, placing her hand over her heart and bowing almost imperceptibly in thanks. Perhaps, Cypher thinks, she might actually tell them all the truth someday.

For now, and for a friend, Aamir is happy to lie through his teeth. “Nobody won this round,” he says, and the group collectively groans. “As Viper mentioned, Miss Ng’s background is almost spotless.”

“Almost?” inquires Omen.

Holding his glass up to the light, the moroccan airily answers, “I’m surprised nobody went for the obvious answer.”

Viper sets her glass on the table and steeples her fingers. “Pray tell, lore-creeper.”

Now having piqued everyone’s interest, Cypher grins broadly. “Indecent exposure.”

Several agents complain loudly, including the one keeping score. “Dammit, I totally should have guessed that!” Killjoy pouts, drawing a long line through the row of bets. “Welp, that rolls the bets into the next round. Everyone get ready for some high stakes betting!” She taps the cap on the end of marker against the board with a clack and smiles. “Who wants to guess what embarrassment Sova’s hiding?”

“Oh, that’s easy!” Jett’s hand shoots up. “Tax fraud, six hundred!”

Nearly half the room calls to second all at once, and everyone breaks out into laughter. Sova’s ears have gone bright pink, and the surveillant can’t help but grin into his whiskey and chuckle along.

Brimstone whistles again when Killjoy tries and fails to quiet the room herself. With a nod of thanks, she claps her hands together. “Show of hands, who all is betting on tax fraud? … Everyone? Really?”

The poor hunter has stopped writing entirely, opting instead to use his notepad to hide his reddening face.

“He’s good with numbers, but too…” Phoenix wiggles his hand with a noncommittal gesture. “I don’t want to say _uptight_ \--”

Viper barks out a laugh. “No, no, uptight is right!”

Trying to contain her own laughter, Sage raises her wine. “Let us say ‘upstanding’.”

“Alright, too upstanding to do some shit like… I dunno, money laundering?” The brit reaches over and pats Sova’s shoulder good-naturedly. “What else is there to do in Russia--wait. Like.” He jostles the other man gently. “Do people pay taxes in Russia? Oi. Please, man, I’ve got money ridin’ on this.”

“Look at his damn face, Grant, the man’s doing his best impersonation of a tomato!” Breach’s laugh thunders from the other side of the room. “I’d say we’re right on the money!”

Jett waves a hand. “Settle down--since it’s unanimous, I say we default the bet to the next round.”

“Agreed,” calls Cypher. “I don’t think you’d be able to guess the nature of the fraud, anyway. In all my extensive career of not minding my own business, it’s the best thing I’ve ever read.”

“I have to leave,” says Sova, nearly knocking over his chair on his way to the door. “I need to go--”

Instantly, both Raze and Breach lunge to intercept. The hunter manages to duck under Breach’s arms and scramble out the door, but Raze is hot on his heels with a wild cackle that echoes behind her as the two sprint down the hall. Everyone goes quiet in time to hear a distant string of russian swearing, followed by a rather meaty thud and a groan.

A few moments of silence pass, before a voice calls out to the group. “Got ‘im!”

Breach snickers, making his way into the hall. A few agents clap as the trio returns, with a particularly pleased Raze dabbing at her bloody nose while the swede escorts a disheveled Sova in with his arms held behind his back. The hunter’s blonde hair has come loose from the braid he’d had it swept back in, and he puffs a strand out of his face as he’s paraded to the center of the room.

“Cypher,” Sova starts, “I will pay you ten thousand credits to not say what you are thinking of saying.”

The surveillant just laughs, raising his glass. “But I was going to propose a toast, my dear friend.”

“Don’t,” pleads the hunter.

“To your most recent marriage,” Cypher continues, reveling in the humiliation on Sova’s countenance. A chorus of ‘ooo’s echoes through the cafeteria (although it’s interesting to the moroccan how crestfallen Phoenix looks at the news), and several agents raise their drinks as well. “May it last for many tax seasons.” He takes a sip, and calmly waits for the room to follow suit before the grand finale. 

“That makes it… what, eighteen spouses?”

Drinks are spat, screams are heard, and Sova is released only to glare a hole into the floor as all of his blood rushes to his face. Brimstone is laughing so hard that tears shine in the corners of his eyes as Reyna claps his shoulder, wheezing. Most of the crowd is howling some variant of _oh my god_ or _what the fuck_ , and Cypher just knocks back the last of his whiskey as he revels in the chaos he’s sown.

Just as the laughter starts to die down, Sova manages to pipe up. “It’s sixteen,” he mutters, barely loud enough to be heard over the others’ noise. “Two divorced me to marry someone else.”

“Holy shit,” Phoenix chants in disbelief. “Holy fucking shit.”

“Can we expect any little buhitos anytime soon?” calls Reyna, followed by another chorus of jeers. “I think the father-in-chief would love being a grandfather--”

“NO.” Sova shouts defensively amidst the smattering of laughter. “They’re all--sukin syn--they’re all just _friends_ , like all of you. Business friends who I want to help. You have to believe me, I’m not--I wouldn’t--ugh, eto tak stydno, ya mogu umeret...” He drops back into his chair, rubbing at his still-flushed face.

As the green light fades from Sage’s fingertips, Raze gives a cursory sniff and a wink to the healer before plonking back down in her own chair. “Okay, but why do you know all that money stuff anyway? Didn’t you grow up in the middle of nowhere?”

“Surprisingly, I’m with the brat on this one,” Viper chimes in, swirling the last dregs of her cabernet. “I don’t really think ‘criminal accounting’ is on the list of things you’d expect to learn in the arctic circle. What’s the story, bird brain?”

With a second sigh, Sova retrieves the notepad from where it’d been thrown from his attempted escape. “You know that both my fathers are… of questionable occupations, themselves,” he says, staring a hole into the paper. “One of them was a bookkeeper for a large-scale crime syndicate in Almaty for six years. When I told my fathers I wanted to work… work closer to civilization, one taught me how to shoot something other than my bow, and the other taught me--as you put it, Viper--’criminal accounting’.” Tucking a strand of loose hair back behind his ear, he finally looks at the other agents. “He had hoped I would choose something less risky than bounty work, or at the very least, something less exposed to the line of fire.”

Killjoy raises her beer once again, smiling sweetly. “And instead, here you are, with your formerly eighteen--”

“Twenty-three.”

“Twent-- _gott im himmel, man_ \--twenty-three spouses, and an empty half of the bed. To Sova,” the engineer toasts. “Always the groom, never the husband!”

Everyone drinks to that--including Sova, who motions for Sage to pass the wine and polishes off the rest of the bottle in one go.

With that, Brimstone stands, rolling his shoulders as he walks in front of the whiteboard. “As entertaining as this has been, I think we need to call it here. Five of you have a mission in the morning, and I don’t want to see a single one of you hungover at brief.” Rolling his eyes when Raze calls _too late!_ , he turns and stops Jett from reaching for the board with an eraser. “Leave it. Just because we’re done for tonight, doesn’t mean I think we’re done here…” he grins, turning to face the rest of the group. “I don’t know about you guys, but I wanna win some creds back!”

The agents erupt into cheers of agreement. Face alight with excitement, Jett drops the eraser back onto the board and offers Brimstone a fist bump--which he awkwardly accepts before patting her on the shoulder. “Alright kids, pack it up and hit the sack. Bet Club resumes tomorrow at eighteen-hundred!”

As the group filters out of the cafeteria, Cypher drags behind, examining the betting board with a pensive expression hidden behind his mask. He considers the final row on the grid, then reaches out, running his gloved hand along the surface until his name disappears.

Tomorrow’s betting will be interesting, indeed.


	2. Intermission: The Kiss Bet

All of a sudden, there are lips. There are lips—plush, tender, _warm_ lips—kissing his lips, and every thought between his ears vanishes, disappears, poof! Gone! Vacated to make space for those lips, to empty out both his reservoirs of language and keep the only possible sentence he’ll want or need:

_On tseluyet menya. He’s kissing me._

Warmth like the sun, awe like the moon, certainty like the stars! Phoenix is bright like a passing comet, a flash of luminance he had been content to watch from safe orbit and never reach for, but something— _good lord he can’t remember what brought this on_ —something changed course, sent their paths to collide in the sweetest press of that dazzling smile against his own slightly dry lips. Had he made a wish? Did Phoenix hear it? Did _he?_ Does it matter? He is kissing him! He is _being kissed_!

And then a bullet whizzes past his ear and he remembers rather abruptly that they are kissing on an active battlefield.

(… but he is being kissed!)

Phoenix jerks back, using the hold he had taken on Sova’s fur collar to jerk him down behind cover. He says something that gets lost somewhere between the hail of bullets that puncture the wall behind them in a spray of rubble and the haze of blood rushing to the hunter’s face. Another gun fires from a different angle, and his communicator blips to life in his ear.

“I want it known that I am the greatest wingman of all time for saving your asses while you make out, but can you PLEASE do that when we’re not getting shot at?!” Jett hollers, flicking a kunai at the opposing sniper. 

When the ensuing meaty thud confirms her target has fallen, Phoenix sheepishly peeks his head up over the crates they’d ducked behind. “Sorry, windy girl, I owe you one—honest,” Jett’s snarky return falls on deaf ears as the spitfire turns back to where Sova still lays against the box, cheeks alight, and offers a hand. “You okay?”

“Fine. Good. Yes.” The words fall out of his mouth with the same clumsiness he’s pulled upright with, still reeling. His fingers absently drift up to touch his lips, as if to check that they’re really on his face.

It’s Phoenix’s turn to flush pink, and a nervous laugh bubbles out of him while his gaze skitters away. “Good! Good, because… can we take a rain check on the rest of that?” the man sputters, covering up his awkwardness by pretending to look for additional enemies across the steel crates of Icebox.

_O bozhe, budet bol'she._ “Da,” his mouth moves before his head can register the words coming out of it, “ya by ochen' khotel et—er. I would like that. Very much.”

“Kiss him back!” came another shout. Raze stood atop the roof of Kingdom’s labs, hands cupped around her mouth like a megaphone as she heckled them from across the storage yard. “If you do I get another hundred creds!”

Phoenix balked. “Wh—you guys brought _Bet Club_ into this?!”

“I’ll split it with you, come on!”

“Raze, we’ve been over the rules twice already,” chides Cypher in their ears, silky and smug. “No attempting to influence the bet from the outside. Besides, you and Brimstone have won a hefty sum already. I don’t think you’ll miss a hundred credits out of fifty thousand apiece.”

Sova feels the blush empty from his face along with the rest of his blood and quite possibly his soul. He taps his earpiece and ducks back behind cover, launching his drone off his gauntlet. “What exactly was the bet?” he probes dubiously.

“Who would kiss who first,” grouses Jett as she pulls a kunai from the now-dead enemy. “Viper’s gonna freak when she sees! She had so much money riding on you, man, I’d hide my food for a while if I were you.”

“Wait. Wait, wait, you said _see_ ,” Phoenix says, dropping from their vantage point to peek around the corner behind them. “What do you mean, see?!”

A loud electronic _ker-thunk_ comes from over Sova’s head. He makes sure to scowl up at the camera as it flashes, green light blinking at him once before fading back into its camouflage against the powder blue steel. Cypher replies all-too-cheerfully, “Somebody had to get proof, otherwise we’d never hear the end of it from Sabine.”

“Fifty thousand credits,” Sova croaks.

“Would’ve been fifty thousand one hundred if you’d have kissed him back,” grumbles Raze.

“Fifty _thousand_ credits. For _two of them_.”

“... I think we broke him?”

“O bozhe, stol'ko deneg. Ona ub'yot menya, yesli naydet, _a ona naydet_.”

“Jesus bloody—I hate. ALL of you. You know that, right? All of you. You suck. Look at him! You took my perfectly good Sova and gave him _nerd anxiety_!”

" _Sto tysyach!_ "

“Please, children, behave yourselves so we can wrap this up. Besides, I have money riding on who tops.”

  
“ _CYPHER_ _!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Valentines Day, because I could. Inspired by @imabeebop's lovely picture on twitter!
> 
> Bet Club may never truly update again but hey, anything can happen.
> 
> Translation notes (aside from one line that is translated immediately after it is said):
> 
> O bozhe, stol'ko deneg. Ona ub'yot menya, yesli naydet, a ona naydet - oh my god, so much money. she'll kill me if she finds me which she definitely will do (Translation credit to Oleina! Thank you for your help!)
> 
> Sto tysyach - one hundred thousand

**Author's Note:**

> I keep starting too many other fics while working on Mayday, but that's not really a lighthearted story and by god I wanna write DIALOGUE!
> 
> Current established Bet Club titles are:
> 
> Brimstone - Father-in-Chief  
> Viper - Vice Snesident  
> Sova - Grand Treasureman  
> Phoenix - Executive Hotboy  
> Omen - Spacestorian  
> Breach - Chairman of Muscle  
> Raze - Chairman of Hustle  
> Cypher - Designated Lore-Creeper  
> Sage - Prissident  
> Reyna - Succretary  
> Jett - Executive Windbag  
> Killjoy - Junior Vice President Scoreborg


End file.
